too, an’ he’ll learn it sometime. I can put up with seein’ that wall just as long as he can.”

A light of understanding began to break in on Lucy’s bewilderment.

“I don’t see——” she began, then halted before her aunt’s stern gaze.

“You don’t see what? Out with it.”

“I don’t see why you couldn’t build it up together.”

“You don’t!” sneered Ellen contemptuously, “You’d help those Howes fix their 75 wall, I s’pose, same’s you’d go an’ buy their eggs.”

75

The withering intonation of the words echoed through the room.

“I’m goin’ to tell you right now, Lucy Webster, that if you have a spark of pride, an atom of regard for your father, your grandfather, or your great-grandfather, you’ll put all such notions as that plumb out of your head. You’ll have no dealin’s with the Howes. You’ll just hate ’em as your folks have always hated ’em; an’ you’ll vow from now on that if Heaven ever gives you the chance you’ll get even with ’em.” The tense voice ceased.

Through the stillness the whispers of the great elm on the lawn could be heard blending with the song of a vesper sparrow. Already twilight had folded the valley in mystery until only the peaks of the hills were tipped with light.

Contrasted with the peace of the night, man’s strivings seemed peculiarly out of harmony. But to Ellen’s heart the scene brought no tranquillity.

“Now you know what your duty is,” she concluded, with a final vindictive outburst. 76

76

“If it is my duty,” the girl answered, her eyes still upon the distant landscape.

“Of course it’s your duty. There ain’t no question about that.”

“Each of us must settle with his own conscience what his duty is,” Lucy observed slowly.

“Not if it’s been handed down to him,” put in Ellen quickly. “I guess your duty’s chalked out for you pretty plain; an’ I reckon if you’re any sort of a Webster you’ll do it an’ not go branchin’ off followin’ notions of your own—not after all these years.”

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